I Knew Jar Jar Before He Was 'All That'
by I. J. Thompson
Summary: A little piece of humour writing I did back in '99, at the height of Phantom Menace fever. Enjoy, and please check out my serious, 'PG' rated Star Wars stuff!


**I Knew Jar Jar Before He Was 'All That'**

by 'Ed Miller'

My name is Ed Miller, and I'm a dishwasher here at Uncle Albert's family restaurant in Edmonton, Canada. I'd really love to tell you my life story, but of course that's not what you're here for. You're here because you wanna know about Mister Movie Star, Mister Star Wars, Mister Jar-Jar Binks. Well, you've come to the right place. Because as you've probably gathered from the title, I knew Jar-Jar before he was 'all that'.

Yes, there once was a time when ol' Jar-Jar was more humbly known as Jarvis Binkbetter, and he was scrapin' slop offa dishes here with me at Uncle Albert's. So one day, he's goofin' off as usual, doin' this juggling routine with a bunch of regular size juice glasses, when of course he screws up and all the glasses come crashing to the floor. Our manager Mr. Patterson comes blazing in, screaming as usual. "That's it, Jarvis," he says, "you break one more dish in this kitchen, you're out on your ass!" and storms out.

So ol' Jarvis gets all indignant, ya know? "Mesa no likin' washin' dishes," he says, fire in his eye, "Mesa goin' ta Hollywood. With a face like-a mine, I'm-a gonna be bombad movie star!"

Yeah.

I told him it was a stupid idea, but he wasn't listenin'. So he gets himself a Greyhound bus ticket with this money he had squirreled away (where that money was when I needed the occasional twenty bucks, I have no idea), and off he goes to the Bright Lights, Big City with nary a goodbye to his old pal, Ed. My heart goes out to the poor chump who had to sit beside him all the way to California on that bus.

So I put him out of my mind, and keep washin' my dishes. Then one day, I gets this letter in the mail. Seems ol' Jarvis got himself hired as an extra in some bar scenes on that Deep Space Nine show, and he's rakin' in the dough, livin' the high life. Lookin' deeper in the envelope for some of this rumoured dough, I find instead a snapshot photograph. Here's Mr. Celebrity, bottle of Heineken raised triumphantly in the air, his big, dumb, grinnin' mug resting in the bosom of none other than Salma Hayek! "Fuckin'-_A_," says I, "Hooray for Hollywood!" And I gets my ass on a bus to L.A.

About a hundred thousand hours later I'm in Tinseltown, workin' my way up to the luxury apartment of our hero. The door's wide open and I go inside, and here's ol' Jarvis, lyin' face down in a puddle of his own puke, pills scattered all around the room, cocaine covering every flat surface, and a stack of unpaid bills stuck to the fridge. Salma Hayek is nowhere to be found. It was a pretty bad scene, so I thought I'd wake up my buddy with a good ol' down home hello.

"Wake up, goddammit," I says, giving him a kick. He looks at me all bleary-eyed, and starts mumblin' like an idiot. "They's-a gonna cancel DS9," says he, "It's-a the end of the rainbow! This-a berry berry shitty... let's-a go back to Canada," and passes out again.

"Not so fast," says I, "I came all the way down here on a smelly Greyhound, and by-God, I'm gonna meet Salma Hayek!" So I got his sorry ass into the shower, and soon enough we were headed out for the clubs.

We found our way into this exclusive movie-star joint (the bouncers assumed I must be an actor, since I was still wearin' my Uncle Albert's dishwashin' uniform), and started lookin' around the crowd. Big surprise, Miss Hayek didn't seem to be around anywhere. In fact, wouldn't you guess, but none of the chicks in the room were comin' within a mile of me and ol' Jarvis Binkbetter. I asked the bartender to fill me in on that, and he told me the story. Apparently, a couple days ago, ol' Jarvis had embarassed himself on the dance floor pretty badly.

So I scan the bar, and who do I see but that Trainspotting guy, sitting by himself and suckin' back the Guinness like there's no tommorow. So I nudge my pal. "Hey, stupid," I says, "There's that Ewan MacGregor guy, from Velvet Goldmine!" Ol' Jarvis just gives me a blank look and says "What?" like everybody does when you mention Velvet Goldmine. So I grabbed him by the collar and brought him over there. I introduced everybody, and this MacGregor kid shot a Guinness my way, which was nice of him. Considering myself paid in full, I went back to ogling the waitresses while ol' Jarvis chatted up the movie star.

So all the way home, Jarvis is all excited. "They's-a doin' auditions for Star Wars tommorow!" he cries, hopping around like an idiot. "my big-a chance! They's-a gonna love mees!" Then he turns to his faithful old pal (me). "You's-a comin' too," he says, "Ewan say they's also lookin' for gaffers!"

Thanks a lot, asshole.

Next morning, I'm hangin' around this crummy rehearsal hall, watching all these high-falutin' movie types do their Star Wars thing. Jarvis and a few other actors are sittin' at this picnic table, doin' a scene where my hometown boy doesn't even get to do any talkin'! So instead, he's shootin' out that big creepy tongue of his, grabbin' apples and oranges out of this bowl on the table (and do you think he scored me anything? sheeeyiit.....). Anyway, next thing you know, this little kid at the table shoots out a hand, and grabs ol' Jarvis by the tongue, sayin' "stop doin' that. You're buggin' me!" I laughed my ass off, but the two suit-and-tie types didn't seem so amused. The bearded one, whose name was George, leans over to his right-hand man (Rick, I think), and says a few things in his ear.

So this Rick stands up and says, real polite-like, "Ummm, yeah... Jake? Good instincts! But, um, that's actually Mr. Neeson's schtick - he's gonna do that. It's in the scene." This Jake kid then fixes the guy with an evil glare and says "I am altering the scene... pray I don't alter it any further." Mr. Rick just sits his ass back down, loosening his tie.

Sheesh, talk about yer primadonnas.

So they kept runnin' the scene over and over, and I was gettin' bored, so I lean in real close to these two producer guys, who are locked in a heated discussion. Turns out, they're talkin' about Jarvis! So I listened to every word, rubbin' my hands together gleefully while I got the dirt on how things go down in Tinseltown. Man, did I have some things to tell my buddy when we got out of there!

So afterward, we're walkin' away to get some lunch, and my old pal is on cloud nine. "I's-a got the part!" he's screamin', "they's-a lovin' me! This-a berry berry great day! I'm-a gonna be big, bombad movie star!"

Man, I stopped that froggy bastard right there in his tracks.

"Now you listen to me," I says, getting all hot under the collar, "you wanna know how you got that part? I heard those two dudes talkin', and the fact is, it seems ol' George figured if he got a really, really funny lookin' guy to play the alien sidekick instead of a special effect, than he'd have lots of money left over to fill the movie up with these computer robots he wants to do. Also, he figured he could re-work your name into something catchy for the kiddies, who, by chance, have an innate affinity for your particular brand of broken english. Plus, since nobody seems to know exactly just what the hell you _are _anyway, George and Rick figure they can give you electrical shocks to the tongue in another scene, without getting a hassle from any animal rights groups!"

Man, sometimes the truth hurts. Ol' Jarvis raises himself up all tall-like, ya know? He looks me up and down, thinkin' about whether he wants to clock me one or not, then he spits on the ground at my feet.

"You's-a can kiss my ass."

Well, that was the last I saw of ol' Jarvis. Oh excuse me, I mean, _Jar-Jar. _Except of course for the movie, that is. My favourite scene is the part when that big camel farts in his face. God knows, many's the time I've dreamed about doin' that myself. Well, one day I'll get my chance. Because, are you reading this, Jar-Jar? If you are, then you listen up, and you listen good:

You may think you're 'all that', what with the worshipping kiddies, action figures, and stuffed animals and whatnot. And yes, I'm forced to look at your smilin' mug every time I go into the goddamned Pizza Hut, but your days are numbered, pal. That's right. Because I can sum up your 'blooming' career in eight letters: T-Y-P-E-C-A-S-T. That's right, typecast. Do you really think you're gonna get another lucrative Hollywood gig once George Lucas has got Episode III in the can? Yeah, right - maybe they'll make a 'Fraggle Rock' movie! Dream on, pal. Your rainbow is going to fade, and I've got all the patience in the world to hang around and watch it happen. And I just want to let you know that, when the time comes, there's always gonna be a place for you right here at Uncle Albert's family restaurant in frozen old Edmonton, where you're gonna find there's a big goddamn stack of dishes that needs washin'!

Sincerely,

Ed Miller


End file.
